March 1, 2011 § 1 Comment
November 10, 2010 § 1 Comment
I still remember the day so clearly. It was in the morning of November 9th and we were in Hurst, where we lived then, picking up some food. My phone rang. “You need to come. Grandma is very sick.” One of my cousins told me. My daughter was nine days shy of turning six months old. She was smiling in her sleep, in the car seat, as I started to cry. No No No. Not my grandma. Please not my grandma. She needs to watch my daughter grow up. She needs to teach her how to make homemade tortillas. She needs to teach her how to sew.
I still remember sitting by her feet, holding your hand when you took her last breath. How time stood still and my heart shattered and tears ran down my face. I remember right then and there, everyone realized you were gone. And then the room was filled with tears, hugging your body. People sobbing on the floor next to your bed. Crying over your body. But you were gone. You had left us. You’d never make chile con queso again. My daughter would not taste your tamales. Your homemade tortillas.
You left us November 10th at midnight. And life hasn’t been the same since then. I still remember the day you lifted your gown and showed me the tumors on your stomach. How I wouldn’t stop crying, even after you hugged me. I couldn’t stop crying. And I fell asleep sitting next to you, hugging you as gently as I could. How was I going to live without you? The person that was my rock through everything? The person who had unconditional love for me? The person who took care of me for as long as I remember? The person who I trusted the most?
I still remember when they came and took your body. I still remember how they carefully placed you inside the car. I remember kissing your cold forehead and hugging my daughter and crying into her hair. I still remember how we just lingered in your bedroom after you were gone. How your scent was still there. And we just soaked up your scent. I remember how we smelled your clothes. How we smiled and cried over your jean skirts. Over your fuchsia shirt. Over the scribblings we would find. “Ay mija, se rie de mis garabatos.” she would say to me and I’d tell her “No Abuelita.” and then we’d laugh.
I remember crying and screaming at your viewing. It was just family first. I was yelling and crying because I could’ve sworn I saw your eyes move. I could’ve sworn you were just sleeping. It wasn’t you anymore. You didn’t smell like you anymore. You didn’t look the same. You were cold. And I hated the smell. But then it was you. And I just cried and cried. I didn’t sleep much that night. Nor the next.. or the next. I would drift into sleep and wake up crying… because I thought it all had been a nightmare. Only it wasn’t. And you weren’t there to answer your phone to calm me down.
The day of your funeral was the worst and I wasn’t prepared. Prepared for what would happen that day. There were a lot of flowers. And you used to say at funerals “Ojala que huviera recibido flores mientras vivieron” and you did. There were eight gold roses on your casket that each of your sons and daughters got. But that wasn’t the worse… What’s worse was when your casket was being prepared to go down. Down to a place you were going. Down to the place where we would not see you anymore. To the cold dirt. To a place I would never hug you again. Or hear your laugh. Or see your laugh lines when you’d smile. I wanted to so badly throw myself over it. But something stopped me. And right then and there, I looked at my beautiful daughter who was sleeping in the stroller. She was the reason why I didn’t throw myself over your casket.
I miss you everyday. Every hour. You’re always in my head, calling me by that nickname you called me. I wonder what you would be doing. What you would be saying about your great granddaughter. I wonder what you would be teaching her. I wonder what flowers you’d be talking to… If you were still here.
You’ll never leave my heart. I’ll always miss you. And my heart? Still hurts…
Three years later
P.S Say hi to Grandpa for me. I miss you with all my heart. Ill love you forever.